“Of course I can understand, and under different circumstances I would love to come, if not just to meet the archbishop.”
“You’ll meet the archbishop,” Jack said. “Especially since he said he specifically is looking forward to meeting you.”
“Now, with the dinner issue out of the way, there’s one more point I want to make. It’s a beautiful day, and since JJ is asleep, why don’t you head outside for a while for some air?”
A broad smile spread across Laurie’s face. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m okay.”
“Oh, come on. You haven’t been out for days. The sun is out and it has warmed up considerably.”
“Where would I go?” Laurie questioned with a shrug.
“That doesn’t matter,” Jack encouraged. “Take a walk in the park, go Christmas shopping, visit your mother. Just enjoy some freedom.”
“JJ will know I’m gone the second I walk out the door. I’ll be worried sick.”
“You don’t have much confidence in me.”
“As a pediatrician? No, I don’t. Look, I feel lucky to be able to be home with JJ full-time. It would be a lot tougher if I had to go back to work and entrust his care to someone else. Think of it more like that. You are making it possible for me to do what I want to do, rather than me being stuck.”
“Do you mean that?”
“I do. It’s not easy right now, but we’ll be able to start treatment again soon. And the more effort I make, the more confident I am about the ultimate outcome.”
“Okay,” Jack said. He wished he shared her optimism. Giving her a squeeze, he got to his feet and walked to the window. Warren and the others were in the midst of their first game, running up and down the basketball court.
“I think I’ll head out for a little b-ball,” Jack said.
“Good idea, provided you don’t get hurt,” Laurie said. “I’d rather not have another patient in the house.”
“I’ll try to keep that in mind,” Jack said before heading upstairs to change.
23
6:30 P.M., SATURDAY, DECEMBER 6, 2008
NEW YORK CITY
James had Father Maloney bring James’s beloved Range Rover around from the garage and park it momentarily on the 51st Street side of the residence. A 1995 model, it was hardly a new car, but to James it represented freedom. In the fall and winter months, he used the car to drive to Morris County, New Jersey, to a small lake called Green Pond to spend random solitary weekends at his cottage. It was a heavenly sanctuary from the weekly blur of his endless official responsibilities.
James climbed up into the driver’s seat, heading west, then south along the Hudson River on the West Side Highway.
The drive was scenic, and he allowed himself to relax and think about the upcoming evening, which he hoped would not be quite as ghastly as he’d originally feared, especially with Jack present. His mind also drifted back to his major problem: how to talk Shawn out of publishing anything about the possibility the bones in the ossuary belonged to the Blessed Virgin. He shuddered anew at the thought of the consequences if he were unsuccessful. With the Church still reeling from loss of clerical authority due to the molestation crisis, the news would be devastating to the Church. It would be crushing to him personally as he believed the Holy See would be forced to sacrifice him as a scapegoat, thanks to Shawn’s machinations. With a profound sense of sadness, James found himself reminiscing over his journey of achieving his current position and his hopes for higher office.
James sighed as he wistfully recalled all the twists and turns of his career and now its possible end at the hands of a friend. It seemed the ultimate betrayal, a thought that suddenly gave him an idea. He realized it was the personal angle that would most likely affect Shawn’s decision to publish. James was well aware of Shawn’s negative attitude toward organized religion, such that any appeal in that arena would fall on deaf ears.
James was also aware that Shawn was not particularly moral, but he was definitely a com mited friend. With a modicum of new optimism, James decided that his approach with Shawn was going to emphasize that his actions would injure him, James, and more or less downplay what they might do for the Church in general and its laity.
James exited the highway into the West Village and made his way to Morton Street, taking the first parking place he found. As an admittedly poor parallel parker, it took him ten minutes to get the Range Rover into the spot, and even though it ended up two feet away from the curb, he considered it parked well enough.
Five minutes later James turned into the walkway that led to the Daughtrys’ wood-frame house and stopped. He’d visited before but had forgotten how charming it was. Nothing about it was square or plumb for its entire four floors. All the window frames and even the front-door casing were leaning slightly to the right, suggesting that if the door was inadvertently slammed shut, the entire building might fall to the right against its more solid-appearing brick neighbor. The clapboard siding was stained a light gray, while the trim was painted a pale yellow. The roof, although hard to see except for just the corners of the fourth-floor dormers, was a medium-gray slate. The front door with several bottle-bottom windows was dark green, almost the same color as James’s Range Rover. In the middle of the door was a brass door knocker in the shape of a human hand holding a ball. Just to the left of the door was a sign that said CAPTAIN HORATIO FROBER
HOUSE, 1784.
James found himself inwardly smiling. He recognized it was just the kind of off-the-wall residence Shawn would choose. There was no doubt Shawn liked to stand out from the rest of the crowd, a thought that gave James another idea. Perhaps he could arrange to have Shawn given some kind of high award if he promised not to publish anything about the Blessed Virgin’s relics, something like being inducted as a modern Knight of Malta.
With the comforting sense of having come up with something of a plan, even if of dubious efficacy, James reached up and used the brass knocker to announce himself with a few healthy clangs against its brass base. After doing so he cringed, remembering the entire house’s precarious lean to the right.
Within seconds the door was yanked open by a euphoric Shawn with a scotch on the rocks in one hand and a smile to beat the band on his face. “The guest of honor has arrived!” he shouted over his shoulder back into the house from whence a most delightful aroma of grilled meat wafted. A Beethoven piano concerto was playing as background music. Both Sana and Jack materialized out of the smoky, candlelit background on either side of Shawn. There was a buzz of voices, hugs, and slaps on the back as James was welcomed into the living room. A small fire was comfortably crackling in the fieldstone fireplace behind an appropriate-size screen.
“My word,” James said, pressing a palm against his chest in a gesture of being overwhelmed. “I’d forgotten how very cozy you have it. My highest compliment is that it out-cozies, if that’s a word, my lakeside retreat in Jersey.”
“Well, sit down and enjoy, birthday boy!” Shawn said, guiding James gently by the elbow to a club chair and hassock situated just to the side of the fireplace. The light from both the fireplace and the candles made his chronically red cheeks look almost like bruises. “What is your preference? We have a terrific vintage Petrus that’s been breathing for several hours or your usual favorite, single-malt scotch.”
“My word,” James repeated, taken aback. Such extravagance immediately caused him concern about a possible breakthrough with the ossuary. “Petrus! This is a celebration!”
“You bet your life it is!” Shawn confirmed. “What will it be?”
“Petrus is a rare pleasure, and provided I’m not taking it away from dinner, I would love a glass.”
“No problem, old friend,” Shawn said, scuttling off after Sana to the kitchen.
Suddenly becalmed after the tsunami of the welcome, James and Jack exchanged glances. “Thank you for coming,” James said pianissimo. “Although I really need to be here to start my campaign, I’m not sure I would have been able to force myself without your presence.”
“I’m actually pleased to be here,” Jack responded equally softly, even though with the music playing there would be little chance of being heard from the kitchen. “But I feel obligated to warn you that Shawn seems hell-bent on publishing this Virgin Mary story.
I’ve tried to help as you asked me, but I’m feeling less and less optimistic that he’ll even consider not publishing, and for a kind of scary reason. Well, two scary reasons, one more so than the other.”
“What are they?” James demanded, with a sinking feeling in his stomach.
“I think he’s beginning to believe that there is a religious component involved. Several times he’s alluded to the possibility that he has been singled out by the powers that be to bring what he considers this enlightenment to
